


Mi na meala

by traveller



Category: King Arthur (2004) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-01
Updated: 2004-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>"It'll be weird, don't you think? When we start filming and it's not like holiday camp anymore?"</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mi na meala

Mostly it was just giggly, it was silly, him a gay man and her a nineteen year old girl, and he could tell when she'd stopped to think about it, because that's when she'd start laughing again. Hugh never took it personally, even when the giggles hit while he had his tongue in her cunt; on the whole he found the whole affair both as hilarious and as inevitable as Keira did.

"It'll be weird, don't you think? When we start filming and it's not like holiday camp anymore?" She played with his curls, spread out on her belly where his head rested.

"Weird for whom?" His voice vibrated into her skin. "Nothing will change." He was sure of that, sure of her.

They sprawled all over each other, too awake in the kind of too bright sunlight that washes everything out, makes it look like an overexposed Super 8 frame, a Polaroid left on the dashboard. All secrets were dispensed with by the end of the first night, and Hugh found in Keira's arms a confessional, a safe place for things he'd never said out loud before.

 _And he called and said listen, mate, I've just found out I'm positive and you've got to get tested, right? And I've never been so scared, I can't even, but I'm okay, yeah? I'm okay and he died and fuck it, I was working in America and didn't even get to say goodbye._

She didn't have as many years as Hugh but certainly had as many miles; she found her stories were easier to tell in the dark, naked and warm and enveloped by his arms, breathing his breath. The sense of safety did not disappear with the dawn, to her relief, and so it was there in the soft haze of that first morning that she took him inside her.

 _Just there, all right, easy, yes, that's good, that's good. Slow, yeah, no, don't close your eyes, don't, it's me, yeah? It's me._

Looking back the frames blur together, shades of white and brown and orange and gold. They traded sins: the first boy she ever loved and lost, the first heart he ever broke because he could. Stolen sweets from the corner store, dented car doors in parking lots. They spent hours laughing so hard they wept, then crying so softly it sounded like happiness. She ate from his hands; he slept on her breast.

In another world it might've been their honeymoon. He said so, one night, and she looked at someone else across the room, and said, "Maybe it was, at that."


End file.
